Eolt Melech made a song of her name and woke her from the sudden heavy sleep that had descended on her after she tried feeding soup to her patient9, spilling more on the canvas than she got down them. Danor’s breathing was harsh and labored, but Maorgan was lying on his side, curled like a child, sleeping sweetly. She made a face at him, then crawled out of the tent.
The day had turned lovely, the sky was clear of all but a few wisps of cloud, the wind had died down to a whisper, and the caцpas were busily browsing on the tender new growth on the brush growing between the trees. She got her to feet, wiped her hands on her shirt, and moved to the middle of the glade.
Melech was drifting above the glade, holding xeself in place with a single anchor tentacle. Xe looked plumper and more contained after a morning of sun-grazing, delicately lovely again, the ragged edges smoothed flat. Xe unrolled xe’s speaking tentacle but didn’t try to touch her with it, waiting for her permission first.
She understood why. It was easier to convey xe’s thoughts through that link and besides, xe didn’t want to wake Maorgan. Tetchy as a mother with a sick child, she thought. Just as well, listening to that chord speech hurts my head. She reached out, let her hand brush against the tentacle as a way of granting the permission.
And gasped.
What poured through the Eolt’s flesh and into her was indescribable-more intense than the deepest physical joy she’d ever known, even when she was a Weaver on Shayalin.
She snatched her hand away at the same time xe recoiled from her, then stood looking up at xe, her fingers moving over and over the hawk etched into her cheek. “Shall we try that again?” she said finally and put out her hand again.
The shock wasn’t so great this time, though it was still there; it was like grabbing hold of a live wire and feeling electricity flowing into her.
They both carefully ignored this.
Eolt Melech mused for a moment, then spoke quickly, xe’s words coming at her like yesterday’s raindrops, hard and fast.*I have quartered the Forest ahead and I have seen no more chorek sign, although with the thickness of canopy so various it is hard to be sure. The Mer-Eolt Lebesair has gone ahead to watch the road for us…*
Even through the quick pelt of the words she felt a sense of things-not-said in that last bit, underlined by a powerful irritation that xe could not quite hide.
*Xe will sing to me of any dangers xe finds and I will pass these to my sioll. Maorgan is well?*
*He’s still asleep, though it’s been rather a long sleep, there is no fever, his pulse is strong.*
*I thought it must be so, but it is good to hear your confirmation. The other?*
*is not well at all. Could you do for him…?*
*No. It is not possible. The touch would kill, not heal. If you can manage to preserve him alive and get him another half a day’s ride along the road, about ten sikkoms that is, you will come to Dumel Minach. It is a miner’s settlement and there will be healers there who can deal with puncture wounds and broken bones. And the Inn at Minach is forted against forest choreks, so you will be safe there. Will you look at Maorgan again and bring me sight of how he is?*
*I’ll do that.*
She watched xe drift upward to hover near the high clouds, then the fatigue that her broken sleep had not cleaned from her system flooded over her again. She returned to the tent, fell on the blankets, and was deep asleep almost before she’d stretched out her legs.
She woke again, an hour later, to see Maorgan bending over the older Ard. And there was more wood stacked inside the doorflap of the tent. He’d been out and busy while she slept. She rubbed at her eyes, once again amazed at how quickly he’d recovered, definitely more in that sioll bond than was apparent on the surface. No wonder Danor had been so filled with rage since his sioll was burned for the pleasure of a pair of Chave techs. He must have felt the burning as intensely as his sioll did till the Eolt was dead.
Maorgan turned when he heard her moving. “He’s really bad. Have you talked to your people?”
“Com’s dead. Sokli fell on it when he was killed. You look better.”
“I feel better. I see the caцpas came back.”
“Last night. I suppose because they’re tame creatures and don’t like the wild. Besides they wanted corncake and that doesn’t grow on trees.” She pushed herself up, grimaced at the throb in her head. “I hate interrupted sleep, I always feel like I’m three thoughts behind and a hundred pounds heavier. Would you bring Danor outside? And a blanket to put between him and the ground. I’m going to try something.”
She opened her medkit, set a scalpel in the sterilizer, scowled at the antiseptic spray, then at the red and yellow matter pressing against the scab on Danor’s shoulder. It was the bullet that was causing the trouble and probably a fragment of shirt it took in with it. She rested her fingers as lightly as she could on the hot dry skin and let her mindtouch drop through the flesh. Yes. There. Dark heavy mass. Have to get that out. Can I shift it… unh… slippery… yes, I can, yes.
She looked up, met Maorgan’s worried gaze. “I have to do something,” she said. “I think I can get the bullet out and the wound cleaned, but I can’t be sure. See if you can fix up a litter we can put him on and carry him to someone who knows what they’re doing.”
He nodded, got to his feet. “And I’ll see about getting the packs ready.”
She checked Danor. His fever was up another notch and he was moving his head and muttering things she couldn’t catch, his hands were scrabbling weakly at the blanket. She wanted to put him out for the cleaning of the wound, but she didn’t dare, she was worried enough about reaction to the spray. She set the antisep bulb on the folded-out worktray of the kit, then took the scalpel and opened the wound, jerking back as blood and pus spurted out.
She set the scalpel back in the sterilizer, sprayed a pad with antisep, and began wiping and pressing, wiping and pressing, getting as much of the yellow matter out as she could, trying to ignore the groans and screams from the man she was working on. When there was just blood and clear liquid coming out, she knelt with her hands resting lightly on his chest, the red raw hole between them.
She could move small objects, she’d done it before. She’d even drawn a bullet before, it just took concentration and time.
Bullet. Yes. Shred of something foreign in there, too.
Grasp both. Yes. Gotcha! Ease them up. Easy… easy. damn!
Danor was coming further awake, starting to writhe around on the blanket. One arm came around, slammed into her, nearly knocked her out of her trance and off her knees. Then he was quiet again, she didn’t know why, she could feel life beating in him still, didn’t matter, the only thing that mattered now was getting that bullet and that shred of cloth out of the wound. She’d lost hold for a moment, but retrieved it now. Easy… easy… come along…, up… where’s the path… ah! around there, when he moved, he shifted things… just to make this harder… up another inch… “Ah!”
The battered cone of lead popped out of Danor with a comical little spt!, rolling down his ribs into the grass. The thread of cloth swam beside the wound in a pool of blood.
She wiped the back of a bloody hand across her eyes and saw Maorgan when she opened them. He’d used his body to pin the old man down, keep him from moving.
“Finished?” When she nodded, he rose. “Oddest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “You’re a talented lady, Shadowsong.”
With a little bark of laughter, she shook her head. “No more than you, Harpmaster. Now if you’ll go back to your packing, I’ll finish this up. By the way, thanks.”
He grinned and walked away.
She wiped the shred of cloth away, cleaned the wound again, sprayed antisep on a new pad, and taped it in place. “Now if you’ll just stay alive till we get you to Minach.”